We woke up with the whole day empty ahead of us, a sleepy, luxurious freedom. Our last day out of the saddle, without a class, followed the bout of food poisoning that (literally) floored me in Cedar Falls. I swung in my hammock for an hour in the filtered morning light, back and forth, drifting off and half waking, before heading downstairs for coffee and a banana.

Rachel and I ran a load of laundry, idled, read, dozed. We finally headed out around 12:30 to the Conflict Kitchen in Schenley Park - they serve food from countries the US is at odds with. This round it was Cuba's turn, an interesting turn given the recent moves toward opening borders. I ate meat, beans, rice, a cabbage-like salad; Rachel went for the fried plantains. And then we sat, idled, read, in the afternoon sun under the austere watch of the Cathedral of Learning, and the city's loving it, girls lying out in sports bras, men asleep on backpacks, everyone lingering in the warmth, indulging the Friday afternoon.

Eventually we split up; Rachel was headed to a yoga class, I biked to the Phipps Conservatory. It's expensive ($15 for standard admission) but so well worth the cost. I spent most of three hours in the desert room among spiny and spindly - five barrel cacti bigger than a beach ball, the lumpy tortoise shell plant; also, with the orchids, giant water lilies, and bonsais, which have been trimmed and tended for thirty and forty years. It's so easy to breathe inside: the air rich and whole, full of moisture, dirt, growth.

I stopped for a while at a stone bench among the weird and bright orchids, at peace in the muted, white light filtering through the steel and glass domes. I watched people run through the exhibits - in such a hurry to see all the roses, they missed them entirely. The calm was shattered when I watched an attendant run up to a father being wheeled in by his son. She said the butterfly room couldn't accommodate his wheelchair, the path through the exhibit too steep and narrow. His family helped him through, but he collapsed on his way out, an embarrassing and dangerous incident that could have been so easily avoided with just a little more forethought.

I spent a while more wandering around, just thinking. I crossed paths, back and forth, with an older, trim man taking iPad photos of the flora. He clearly felt the same way about the place I did, as a place to revere, and to savor.

Roots of a bonsai

Eventually, I wound my way through all 14 rooms and pedaled back to Schenley to meet Daniel and Rachel for dinner. We met Margaret, Ellis' rad, insanely smart, firecracker girlfriend, for burgers and brews at the OTB Bicycle Cafe. Go go go! It's dark and loud and the beers are great, the meat better. We convinced our server of Rachel's drinking-age legitimacy with every bit of cross-country story and photocopied ID she had on hand. Afterwards, we took a ride up the Incline (steep, short cable car ride) for a view of Pittsburgh at night, and ran into Bob, who we'd met at MRS the day before, and his family.

Coming out of the Incline station, we realized that the fence we had parked our bikes on was actually a gate. And Daniel's front wheel took the brunt of the beating. He was able to ride it home, but was definitely going to have to get it replaced. A bummer of an ending to a pretty phenomenal day (future-forward note: check for hinges before u-locking in unfamiliar territory).

Woke up in the morning three instead of two and no rainfly at all - no rainfall at all. I made myself coffee in my makeshift Maxwell can: grounds boiled straight in the pot. With leftover coconut milk and brown sugar, it was a pretty good brew for month-old beans.

I packed up and headed out early. The Appalachians don't care at all for best laid plans. I started recording the grades of the big and little hills, mean slopes graded for Ford pickups: 9%, 12%, 11%. Maybe twenty minutes in, another two dogs broke the morning's humid calm, teeth bared in gleeful aggression. I am not a fighter. I ran.

Eventually, the rollers led to one big downhill right into Fredericktown and a silver sedan pulls up right next to me and this older guy leans his head out the window and warns that the road after the bridge right in front leads straight to the heavens. I tried to slalom up but hitting that hill was like paddling a canoe through mud, like trying to mold play doh that sat out for too long. Make that two days now where I've had to walk my bike, grunting and sweating, triceps and calves strung out against the strain. By the time Rachel caught up (basically right away, walking is stable but slow like paint drying), I'd reached a breaking point. We'd climbed a thousand feet in five miles and had at least 2000 to go. We weren't going to make the camp we were supposed to teach at, thunderstorms were rolling in, and all I had left to eat was granola.

On the bright side, we reached Ohio.

We decided to ride at least to Beaver, grab some food, and see if the Richard from the Materials Research Society (MRS), who had helped connect us with the camp, could give us a ride. The 15 miles there were tough but less demoralizing than the first five. We watched berets golf; they stopped midswing to figure out what (ie, us) was going by. We ended up at Cafe Kolache, where Rachel met Mark, a retired ballet dancer who's making a second career as a permanent cycle tourer (check out his blog here: lewisandclarkandmark.com).

I ran across the street to the bike shop to pick up some gu's and be advised on routes to Philly. When Rachel showed up, she figured out one of the mechanics was a good friend of a good friend in Penn's dental program. On this trip, the world has seemed very large, and very small. We bought the shop's growler, then Richard showed up, packed us up, and we headed to camp. We were expecting ~20 middle school-aged kids, but since it was pouring, the entire camp was packed into a single awning, the only dry spot on the grounds. So we presented to 200 4-14 year olds, fighting to be heard over the weather. Trying to keep that many cooped-up kids engaged, when they want to be running and chatting, made this afternoon our most difficult lesson. And in the middle of the lesson, a kid fell off the table he was sitting on and had to go to the hospital.

Charming the children at Winwood

After it was all over though, a couple of girls came up to us and asked all kinds of questions about 3D printing and solar power. And the the wheels started turning right there, and they were throwing out ideas for a solar-paneled, kinetic soccer ball, for other kinds of solar-powered transportation.

(a real city!)

Richard took us out to first dinner after we bundled back to MRS headquarters. We ate salads and fried things (balance is key in all things). Then he drove us to Pittsburgh - there wasn't any way we could've made it in daylight, with more and more Appalachians between us and our hosts for the night.

For second dinner, we made custom pizza with Emilie and Daniel, Ellis' friends. Sun-dried tomato pesto with goat cheese and caramelized onions totally stole the show.

Plenty of wine, second helpings, and conversations later, we retired, Rachel to a bed, I to the hammock room, because the brilliant E+D have one dedicated as such in their classy, hip Pittsburgh home.

I stayed up late listening to the hum of the city, the sirens, the banter, the clanging and whooshing and all the bits of collective living you forget when you're on the road and out of it this long.

The morning with Gary and Marilyn was peppered with friendly conversation, black coffeee, eggs and English muffins (toasters: just one of those things you don't realize you'll miss). We set off at 9:30 and almost immediately entered the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, tree trunks thin, lithe and healthy, every bit of dirt right up to the asphalt a bright, deep green.

The tow path ran ten miles and dropped us straight into downtown Akron. Rachel had tried to remind me earlier, but I'd forgotten how proximal your mortality becomes riding through a city. Right there: with the semis banging to your left, the curb to your right, a four-inch pot hole straight in front.

We finally escaped the city/subsequent suburbs after fifteen some-odd miles, took lunch on the raised stone bed of a church sign. The stones were not cemented together. I fell off.

I detoured for a quick gatorade, and then Google freaked out and took me on this wiggly route through the middle of Ohioan farmland, all short, steep hills, absent the Midwest flat. And then, just passed this big historic barn, the first two: a deep throaty bark and then I'm being chased by two dogs up an absurd grade. This is followed five more times by five more sets or single dogs, barkin' and growlin' me off public roads.

By the time I arrived at the base of the hill that would take me up to the campground, my adrenaline glands were drained of every bit of flight (turns out I'm not a fighter). And that hill, I don't know what it was except for straight up and for the first time on the whole trip, I had to dismount and walk my bike up. That was rough -- even after 2800 miles, I didn't have enough built, enough left, to pedal up to the top.

When I arrived at the campground though, there were two bikes at the picnic table where Rachel was setting up camp. Two bikes! Sandra had arrived just before her. She's traveling solo from Chicago to New York, but the kicker's that she's going via DC. We'll be on the same route for a while. A third!

Despite the storm, the tent was actually dry in the morning, and a clear blue Ohio day lay itself out before us, ready for some heavy pedaling.

The night before, a camper van had pulled in, one of those rentals covered in pixelated murals. Turns out, it was a dad taking his three young kids on a road trip, and the youngest, a four-year-old with a thin elfin-like face and the saddest blue eyes you've ever seen, was homesick for mom.

There's nothing like science to cheer you up right? I grabbed our box of science and she helped put together Sunny, a purple sol cycle we've had since the beginning of the trip. She giggled as it zoomed through the oatmeal and tin cans and coffee and raced to catch it on the other side. We left Sunny with her and took off toward Akron.

We wanted to make it to Pittsburgh in three days, so we decided to head for a Warm Showers 80 miles away, since the weather was good (ie no lightning). We took a pretty zig-zagging route from the bay to Hwy 303. None of the roads had much of a shoulder to speak of, but they had plenty of traffic and repair reroutes.

About 20 miles in, up a hill on a highway with the only shoulder we'll see all day, I spotted little grey sign that reads "Thomas Edison's Birthplace -->".

What!

A blown-out picture of the birthplace of TE, what a guy.

Out of all the routes and all the tiny towns, we found Milan, Ohio, birthplace of the father of modern light, sound and cinema. (Also, research labs and modern utilities).

I made myself a PB and honey sandwich in front of his little brick childhood home, gape in adoration and try to absorb some neural plasticity, or whatever it was that enabled his 1,093 patents.

Gary and Marilyn, avid cyclists themselves

We rolled into Gary and Marilyn's right around 8, a gorgeous home tucked away at the end of a cul de sac on the edge of the Cayahoga Valley National Park, the evening cool for once, light. Marilyn wasn't home yet but Gary fed us homemade pesto and linguini, deviled eggs, fresh cherries and limeade. A literature professor, we peppered him with questions about what to read for the rest of our trip. He suggested Gibson - if you haven't, go pick up a copy of Neuromancer now, it'll roil your world- and Pym, by Matt Johnson, about a guy who decides Edgar Allen Poe's only novel is actually a true account, and sets out to retrace its surreal adventure.

Then Marilyn showed up with thick slices of chocolate cake and we were done for.

Rachel and I got our own rooms for the night, space being one of those simple but tremendous luxuries you can't find on a trip like this.

And when I went to turn off the lights, I looked up - and the whole ceiling was covered in a universe of tasteful of glow-in-the-dark stars: finally, the night sky we've been missing these last few months.

MWe left the soft grass of Napoleon to the French and Frosty Boy, on a mission to ID Rachel. Birth certificate in hand, we headed for Bowling Green, for coffee and for a post office with a visa counter.

We intended to take county road P in, were rerouted by more construction (as on every other useful road in Ohio), but the riding was good and easy, on roads that were mostly empty. I'm listening to Garden of the Beasts, an account of the lives of the American ambassador to Berlin and his daughter Martha during Hitler's rise to power. So most of my memories of the ride, addled by decaffeination, have overtones of 1930s Nazi Germany. The road took us 27 miles straight into Bowling Green though, a decidedly more docile town.

Newwwttt

I hunkered down at Grounds for Thought, a coffee shop with great coffee, decent lemonade, and no outlets. It is also a used book store. Because I have no self control, I picked out two more (a Gibson; an account of the early Iraq war); in the process discovering a sci fi novel by Newt Gingrich.

I also dove deep into the Warm Showers listings for Pittsburgh, and stumbled upon Ellis', who I did the AAAS mass media fellowship with. He's no longer in Pittsburgh, but he reached out to some friends and came through 250%, I say, prescient since I'm writing this in the future.

Once the passport application was filled out in black (not blue) ink, signed, stamped and submitted to the U.S. Government, we took off toward a private campground in eastern Ohio. Only we found that it's closed on Mondays, so we turned our wheels north toward Sandusky Bay and headed to Crystal Rock. Highway 6 turned into this mega busy road being repaved and otherwise improved in 17 different spots. Maybe 5 miles in, Rachel stops and says something about getting off the road and I thought it was because of all the road work. But she motions for me to turn around and there's this grey, immense cloud bank racing behind us, literally a wall of darkness, rain visible as it blurs the countryside. We decide to pull over to the gas station ahead to wait out the storm, though it's still so hot and humid I'm in my token Hawaiian shirt. In fifteen minutes, after a Kit Kat bar, it's clear the storm is going to pass by on the west side without even touching the blue sky above us.

We stop in Fremont for groceries, Fremont, Ohio, also the home of President Hayes' presidential library. It is fenced off. For the last hour to the campgrounds, I listen to Sarah Vowell try to find some family history in a five-day road trip on the Trail of Tears.

The campground is pretty, you know, commercial. Mowed grass. A few RVs. Close to the scenery, but not close enough to see the scenery. Whatever it's 8:30 pm and I'm hungry so we binge on an entire family can of baked beans, accompanied by corn and pre-cooked wild rice. We also take some very long, hot showers.

The whole northern US is supposed to be able to see the aurora that night. A Slate article declares that most of those states expect clear skies. Ohio's is almost completely clouded over. We bike down to the Bay but can't tell if the flashes we see are lightning or electrical storms. After failing to uncork the wine, then dropping it on the ground, we give up and head back to the campground.

We woke up on a water bed. Not in water but there was like inch of water between the tarp and the bottom of the tent. It was good on the back, but less so on the psyche: wet tents are icky.

We've brushed our teeth in the creepy bathrooms, stomped through some mud, tried to hang the tent to dry and then it started sprinkling so we just toweled it off and packed it in. I took off toward Ligonier for some gas station coffee. I recommend the dark roast. With three of those fake milk caramel-macchiato-flavored packs.

After an hour at the gas station - the longest I've ever spent at a gas station - on the hot pavement making uncomfortable but cheery eye contact with the seven families that pulled up in minivans or pickups,

I decided I should probably start actually bicycling.

I made it like 16 miles before I found a Walmart and wandered inside. Ostensibly I was there to by a slightly more fashionable pair of sunglasses, an eye mask to block out the lightning-to-come but then I spent another hour trying to find dinner, namely baked beans, which were in the frozen meat section. Please explain.

Fortunately for me, today was one of those rare tailwind days and for the first time since leaving the great, empty states of the west, I stuck to highway 6 the whole way. We ended up going 90 miles to Napoleon, a town that's small but not thatttt small, just like its namesake.

Ice cream + sunsets yum yum

I met Rachel at Frosty Boy's, where she'd already chatted up the owners and was chowin' down on some dairy because she is a good American. I can't eat dairy and always kind of feel like I can't contribute to the economic recovery. Lucky for our nation, they had Dole, a dairy-free orange creamsicle inside a swirly machine, so I stood behind a bunch of dads and then delighted in the glory of its cold, granular imitation. They're getting there with these ice cream facsimiles.

Speaking of dad's, shoutout to ours! Thanks for kicking my toches in the 25-mile rides and also the one 60 mile ride we took before this trip. Without you, I would not be here in Napoleon, celebrating French history on American soil.

The owners of the Frosty Boy let us camp on their property, right behind the store, right next to the graveyard. We invited some ghosts to star gaze and they boohed and ahhed. (jajajaja)

There were actually stars, and for the very first time on this entire trip, we didn't have to use the rain fly. Momentous. The fireworks should've been set off early to celebrate such a rare confluence of luck and weather. It was warm and a little breezy and smelled like fresh cut grass and pavement and that was enough for me to slip off to sleep.

Two or three topped-off cups of coffee peeled open my eyelids enough for me to actually see while riding my bicycle in the exotic sunshine. We set out from Faith and Kevin's east out some country roads and onto Hwy 6. The routes out here lining the cornfields are ideal: slightly rolling, green pouring out ether side, stands of trees every two hundred feet, wide lanes, no cars.

Not 15 miles in, we crossed into the eastern time zone! We're officially on the east coast, less than a thousand miles from New York.

Give me such shows -- give me the streets of Manhattan!

- a quote by Walt Whitman I looked up online by searching "quotes about New York City" because I'm not really that well read

We've reached an area of the country with deep history, classic downtowns, old stately houses, their Queen Anne and Prairie architecture beautifully kept up over the years. Towns here are like the towns in my head, although the downtowns are doing about as well as they were back in Wyoming and South Dakota, that is, not so well. A lot of shuttered businesses among the saloons and grocery and hardware stores.

Buggies and bikes unite for wide shoulder rights

We passed through our first bit of Amish country. I was on the phone with Rachel and rode past a lady in a tight blue bonnet wielding a weed whacker, and a 10-year-old boy with a golden bowl cut and brown coveralls mowing beside his family's orchards. One or two black buggies, with their big wheels and bright orange cation signs tacked to the back, were parked at every farmhouse (which are all painted white, instead of the traditional red, anyone know why?). Shortly down the road, I passed through Amish Acres, in Neppanee, but didn't have time to stop. Anyone know any more history about the area?

One neat plus: shoulders wide enough for a horse and buggy are wide enough for a bicycle. Superb riding for.. three miles or something.

Out of town, after buying threes banana for 50 cents, I talked to a lady in a bonnet on a bicycle outside the Rite Choice, Carol Helmuth, about our trip. "Wow you really have come a ways!" she said, accent emphasizing and rounding the w's. I wish I could have asked her more, but I am shy and kind of awkward and also I was really hungry.

Post-nap, mid-dinner chompin

I made it to the Cottonwood campground by 6:30, pretty long after Rachel. She was napping in the tent. No hammockable trees sadly, but it was so pleasant to arrive before dark, to have a few hours to tootle around and write and eat and clean before the sun set. Earlier that week, I had ordered a new sleeping pad to be delivered to La Porte. Unfortunately, it arrived late - five hours after we left the farmhouse. Kevin drove it over even though it was already 8 pm and we were an hour a way. So write him thank you's, shower him with flowers, mail him bottles of artisan balsamic vinegar!

I did not take a shower because I do not like reenacting the Saw series

Like every night we camp, the weather report predicted thunderstorms. And it stormed and stormed, starting around midnight, big, blinding flashes of lightning and uncooperative cramps in my right calf keeping me awake. But it's neat to be outside and still dry in weather like that, like you're there in a dream and it's only half real. Eventually I ate a banana, plugged in some ear plugs, threw my pants over my face as a sleep mask, and drifted off.

Our seventh class had been booked early in our trip. I think the La Porte Public Library contacted us through Twitter, or email maybe. Anyways, it's another one of those places that's been on the map for a while, and it's always kind of an event for us to show up at these amorphous red Google pins.

We had a leisurely morning full of eggs, cantaloupe, hot, fresh coffee, and easy Sol Cycle repairs. The training wheel forks break often. Wanna try to fix that? The link's right up top! We just posted the .stl 3D file. It will take you to Tinkercad, a free online tool where you can 3D model to your heart's content.

Anyways, the two library classes were pretty great. The kids in the first one, ages 8 through 17, were really enthusiastic - along with some parents and Faith, who participated too. Because the class was so small, we were able to give a Sol Cycle to every 2-3 kids. That made it a lot more hands on than we've been able to be in the past.

Instafamous

The later class, a middle school tech camp, was a lot quieter at first. But it's pretty rewarding to coax the kids who want to talk, but are too shy, to speak up. And we had a couple that really opened up, volunteering with great answers and better questions.

Plus, although it was cloudy, we had enough sunshine to make the bicycles move! Those thunderstorms follow us to campsites and classrooms without fail. How nice for solar panels to actually have something to work with.

We ran some errands (I got my ukelele repaired, Rachel got some hawt passport photos taken), then Faith picked us up and we nestled into the farmhouse for the night. She made an apple pie straight from their orchard! We'd given up on pie since we've been woefully underwhelmed by the bakeries so far on this trip. But who needs a bakery when Faith and Rachel bake fresh bread too.

Before the trip, Faith had reached out to the bike club to let them know we'd be coming by. Usually, we love meeting fellow cyclists (like Faith and her whole biking family), since they can a) empathize and b) always have a good couple of stories. So this one guy stopped by right as we were sitting down for dinner and we handed him some bread thinking he's going to stay a minute and share a few jokes and stay he does. For sixty minutes or ninety, some impossibly long time. And he just talked and talked about himself in the dullest possible manner, expounding trip upon trip in minute detail. No conversation, no story arcs, just lectern. Kevin did his damnedest to politely ask us questions to try to steer the discussion anywhere, but our esteemed guest, he went on and on, oblivious to the quiet, intense discomfort obvious to everyone else. I don't want to hang on the guy, we all have our faults, but Rachel and I talked afterwards and we just had no idea what to do in the moment. For we felt responsible for his ceaseless visit; but for us, he wouldn't be there and Kevin and Faith could have had a quiet, easy Friday night.

Pie so good!

Well, we weren't going to cede the pie, so after he left, we dug in. And it was tremendous: perfect golden flakey crust wrapped around bits of apple both tart and sweet. Maybe the best apple pie I've ever had.

I thought I was going to get another perfect 10:30 to 6:30 night but I tossed and turned for hours, destroyed both sets of covers on the top and bottom bunk. I think I finally fell into an uneasy truce around 2.

Our seventh class had been booked early in our trip. I think the La Porte Public Library contacted us through Twitter, or email maybe. Anyways, it's another one of those places that's been on the map for a while, and it's always kind of an event for us to show up at these amorphous red Google pins.

We had a leisurely morning full of eggs, cantaloupe, hot, fresh coffee, and easy Sol Cycle repairs. The training wheel forks break often. Wanna try to fix that? The link's right up top! We just posted the .stl 3D file. It will take you to Tinkercad, a free online tool where you can 3D model to your heart's content.

Anyways, the two library classes were pretty great. The kids in the first one, ages 8 through 17, were really enthusiastic - along with some parents and Faith, who participated too. Because the class was so small, we were able to give a Sol Cycle to every 2-3 kids. That made it a lot more hands on than we've been able to be in the past.

Instafamous

The later class, a middle school tech camp, was a lot quieter at first. But it's pretty rewarding to coax the kids who want to talk, but are too shy, to speak up. And we had a couple that really opened up, volunteering with great answers and better questions.

Plus, although it was cloudy, we had enough sunshine to make the bicycles move! Those thunderstorms follow us to campsites and classrooms without fail. How nice for solar panels to actually have something to work with.

We ran some errands (I got my ukelele repaired, Rachel got some hawt passport photos taken), then Faith picked us up and we nestled into the farmhouse for the night. She made an apple pie straight from their orchard! We'd given up on pie since we've been woefully underwhelmed by the bakeries so far on this trip. But who needs a bakery when Faith and Rachel bake fresh bread too.

Before the trip, Faith had reached out to the bike club to let them know we'd be coming by. Usually, we love meeting fellow cyclists (like Faith and her whole biking family), since they can a) empathize and b) always have a good couple of stories. So this one guy stopped by right as we were sitting down for dinner and we handed him some bread thinking he's going to stay a minute and share a few jokes and stay he does. For sixty minutes or ninety, some impossibly long time. And he just talked and talked about himself in the dullest possible manner, expounding trip upon trip in minute detail. No conversation, no story arcs, just lectern. Kevin did his damnedest to politely ask us questions to try to steer the discussion anywhere, but our esteemed guest, he went on and on, oblivious to the quiet, intense discomfort obvious to everyone else. I don't want to hang on the guy, we all have our faults, but Rachel and I talked afterwards and we just had no idea what to do in the moment. For we felt responsible for his ceaseless visit; but for us, he wouldn't be there and Kevin and Faith could have had a quiet, easy Friday night.

Pie so good!

Well, we weren't going to cede the pie, so after he left, we dug in. And it was tremendous: perfect golden flakey crust wrapped around bits of apple both tart and sweet. Maybe the best apple pie I've ever had.

I thought I was going to get another perfect 10:30 to 6:30 night but I tossed and turned for hours, destroyed both sets of covers on the top and bottom bunk. I think I finally fell into an uneasy truce around 2.

After a luxurious morning of free coffee and cold Chinese, we left the hotel and booked it toward the Indiana border. Well. Leisurely rode on toward, with a long break for lunch (PB, brown sugar, granola, leftover canned tikka masala) and an afternoon refuel Dunkin Donuts. They do not have great donut holes and no one compares to my exaggerated nostalgia for Stan's in Santa Clara anyways, pulling myself up onto a counter seat for a hot morning glaze with my dad before school. The old couple makes the donuts right there behind the counter and I could still drink milk then, cold and sweet and straight out of the carton. I'm 8, wearing a scratchy sweater and corduroys instead of the ugly checkered jumper I reviled with a loathing usually reserved for canned vegetables, or warts.

Yo can someone mail me some good donuts or something?

We finally finally got to ride the Hennepin canal trail, albeit its tail end. I left after Rachel and she said it was in decent condition so I tried to hop on it earlier. Unfortunately the park I tried to go through really had not survived the storms in any kind of riding condition, cue thick layer of sticky black nutritious mud. The trail itself was in decent condition, packed limestone, just a little puddly in places. I saw a wild ferret and a turtle. I tried to pick the turtle up and it peed.

The only thing in the world scared of me

The trail ended in Chicago heights, but a short couple of city miles and we were on the Old Plank Road trail. 22 miles of pavement, no motorized vehicles except for the maintenance golf carts and mowers.

Sometimes you just gotta eat a long lunch and today was that day. I knew I wasn't in California anymore cause the sign next to the pond I sat by read "No ice fishing." Presumably they did not mean in June.

Met Rachel at the end of the trail and she had bought me a cake donut. What a lady.

No sign of the border, super Illinoyed

We then actually booked it for the Indiana border where we met Faith, the mother of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of Rachel's, who was taking us in for a couple of nights. There were no state signs. Get it together Illinois and Indiana. We are teaching in La Porte tomorrow, so she gave us a ride to her house, since we were running (biking) behind to schedule thanks to the dependably ever-present storms.

Rachel and I got our own rooms tonight. #separationanxiety

JK it was the best, I'm in bed at 10:30 like the wild child that I am.

We've been out two months. Two months on the road. Deep into this, there's no turning back now, just a thousand more miles, we've got this in the bag.

Woah two months.

There's not a lot to say about our ride from Brian's front yard to Channahon, but long story short, Rachel had a tire replaced, I ate a bagel with butter, and we celebrated with take-out Chinese food, Lagunitas, and a jacuzzi suite at the Manor Motel which sounds like pure $$$ but then you have to remember we are in Illinois. But it had a street lamp inside. Yup.

For whatever reason, be it the media or my internal conviction I'm actually a hobbit reborn, the image I had of this trip before I left was a third-person view of an indistinct cyclist atop and leaning over a ridge like this.

Or this.

To be fair, riding out of Grand Teton was actually pretty close to this.

Anyways, before we left on this trip, there was nothing concrete to hold on to about it. Two months in the saddle of a bicycle, pedaling more miles each day than I had ever pedaled in one day, witness to a nation and to nature I'd never seen.

Our daily lives are kind of like this: wake up to the Kooks, boil water (or don't), pull on dirty spandex (or wait until after breakfast), pack up again (just like yesterday), dry everything off (it has inevitably rained), do little meaningless things that take another half an hour, head out.

And then we're pretty much on our own for eight or ten hours a day, since we ride pretty far apart. Often, I fill the space with music or podcasts or, more recently, audiobooks since I finally bought some headphones that actually stay on my ears (currently re-listening to Sarah Vowell's Partly Cloud Patriot. Her humor comes from obsession and my aspiration in life is to find people, objects, places, ideas to obsess about).

Or I don't fill it and I just let the sounds be what they are. It feels like my brain's only just begun to be able to cope with stretches unfilled by anything but road sans external stimulation. I talk to myself by having conversations in my head with the people I've met, the only way I can get around the weirdness of internal debate. Anyone else do that? Oh and one of my favorite continuous transitions on this trip that requires me to cut the noise is the birds, watching and hearing them change from one species to another. Their calls become common for a week or longer, then rarer and rarer and new distinct chirps take their place. The first place I remember matching a bird to its call, it was sitting on a power line in the bucolic high desert of northeastern California. They seem more colorful here as we move east, some with bright orange breasts, and the dark red cardinals, which I can only name because Naomi mentioned it.

Other indulgent reflections:

I think this is true for Rachel too but I can only speak for myself - though we spend most of our days on blacktop and indeed seek out the best roads - we've deacclimated to the concrete of the cities, which are loud and hard and grey and busy. Before this trip, the constant busy of the city was a source of comfort and creativity, the bustling helping along my mind too. But for 95% of our trip, we've been bordered by nature (preserves) or farms, and the ground around is soft and the dirt's right there and wet and you can grab a clump of it and you can stop to pee in the grass and eat lunch watching some sheep and there's not so much in-your-face stimulation that's ever present in urbana.

Not that we won't learn to love cities again or don't love cities anymore but they are so overwhelming right now, even the small ones, even the 50-minute-commute Chicago suburbs we passed through the other day.

And:

One of the most finally-put-into-words moments of podcast.. from an episode of Strangers.. told the story of a Alfred Corchado, a journalist who immigrated from Mexico in the 50s or 60s. And when he was in high school, his biggest dream was to be a crew leader at the farm he worked at and buy a car.

And not to imply there is anything small there - Corchado had ambition - but his ability to apply that drive was limited to the world he knew. His family had different dreams for him, so his mother convinced him to go to college by promising the car. He talked to an adviser there for the first time, and Corchado told him he wanted to be a hairdresser. The counselor has him take an aptitude test - whether those are any good isn't the point, the point is the adviser suggested he try to be a foreign correspondent. He became the editor of the student paper, took an internship at a paper in Utah (over NYT), and started working on a story about migrants there.

"That's when I understood how powerful this profession could be... being able to find people who took me back to when I arrived in California and suddenly you're giving them a voice."

I usually don't like commentary on stories, but I love host Lea's conclusion:

"When a kid grows up .. and can't see much a future for themselves, let's not write that off as a failure of imagination on their part."

You know best what you grow up knowing. And while some find a way to face a world of unknowns and find a path that is big and bold and fulfilling, others can't do it on their own because that outside world doesn't really exist for them. Maybe. I don't know, my parents have made sure my world of opportunity has been petty big. I'm lucky.

But my idea of what a futur can hold has grown a lot on this trip. Like you'd expect, we have met so many people on this trip whose normal is substantially different than ours. Whose expectations, habits, childhoods, and futures dreams really do seem otherworldly. We live in the same country, speak the same language, and more often than not, really like each other. But our paths never would have crossed save for the happenstance required by a journey like this one and that's been exhausting and worth remembering - that people dream of different paradises largely dependent on what they already know.

We awoke to weather straight out of a Disney movie, little bird squawking on our window sill to cerulean skies dotted with puffs of white. It was also five AM so I shut the window on the little bigger, closed the blinds, and went back sleep for a few hours.

Steve made us giant, thick pancakes with fresh fruit, syrup (yes Log Cabin and yes I do still love it's divinely manufactured sweetness), and a side of farm fresh eggs. Our bikes stayed at the shop last night so we hopped in the truck to go pick'em up (this ain't no walk for science after all).

Steve loaded us up with some free hats, socks and shorts, so freshly attired, we set off for.. somewhere between the Mississippi and the Indiana state border.

You can't see the ducks swimming down the trail but they're there. Also leeches and dead worms.

Of course, a blue-sky day would be replete without a vigorous headwind and bike trails literally flooded by a river. (Illinois please ship some of this H2O to your brethren out west, thank you). After the Cedar River Trail, we had been looking forward to the Grand Illinois Trail as respite from the traffic and pavement, but the record rains pretty much assured we'd be slogging through mud and gravel. So we hung out on hwy 6, the forever uphill of westerly winds leaving me high and dry. After two nights of minimal sleep and with our detour making the route longer than planned, I had to call it - no way was I going to make it 85 some miles to Peru. We decided to end our day 10 miles early at the Myer Woods Nature Preserve, which was a good call I think given it was already dusk when we got there.

Wait got where? The nature preserve was just that - all nature, no trails or even cut brush to allow us to pull out bikes in and set up camp. Luckily, a guy named Brian was cleaning his pool out, his the only home within 2 miles of us at that point. He offered to let us camp in his yard, and introduced us to his wife and two kids. We're really lucky, and really, really thankful. (Turns out there is another Myers Park down the road where camping is allowed, so when I'd googled places we could stay, info about that one came up. Woops.)

We made curry and actually saw some stars (!! for the second or third time on this trip? We're getting aced by the weather, always cloudy with rain on the horizon. Rain was on the horizon but we were forgiven for an hour or so). My sleeping pad is kaputt but this family had the best grass I've ever slept on, and I turned in before Rachel, and dozed.

We just can't catch a break on this weather. Since Idaho, we've been dragging thunderstorms across the U.S., heck, we even got rained on in the desert in Oregon.

The day started out sunny enough, but heavy with the humidity. Just a couple miles out of the state park, I saw the Mississippi for the first time! Magnificent. So much history flowed down that river. (Samuel Clemens' chosen name, Mark Twain, hails from his steamboat days - means the water was 12 feet deep, good enough for the boat).

After I gaped for a while, sweating out a liter of water as my body struggled to acclimate to the might-as-well-have-been-Louisiana weather, I headed for Davenport to run some errands. We were trying to make 70 some miles to Hennepin Canal State Park, off the Grand Illinois trail. Theoretically, the trail (made of the Hennepin canal trail and the I&M canal trail) would run us almost all the way to La Porte.

Hwy 22 out of wildcat was more of the same: beat up road with no shoulder. I did stop to take a quick dip in the aforementioned river at an RV camp spot down the road. But for the most part it was industrial with heavy truck traffic. Eventually I turned down Utah Ave to get on a frontage road that took me into town on emptier roads and bike paths. Clearly, the Mississippi had overflowed the night before, the roadways were soaked, the ditches pools for fishes.

The Quad Cities straddle the river, two on the Illinois side and two on Iowa's, bridges criss-crossing every few miles. The bike-friendly bridge is this car/railroad bridge made out of blackened steel, and it rattles and squeals as you ride across it, the rushing waters of the Mississippi visible through the crosshatching below your tires. Sadly, Illinois didn't welcome us with any kind of sign, so Rachel made one up.

Rachel's been plagued with flats, so I went to Bike n Hike for an extra tube and was subsequently adopted. The guys working the shop kept brining their customers in back and challenging them to lift my bike with all my gear. I maxed out their scales when they tried to weigh it. They kept remarking about what a "mighty small lass" I was.. And while I know they meant it as nothing but admiration, and they were nothing but good to us, it's still a little shocking that it's such a surprise to people that we are capable of this trip. Or surprise isn't really the right word, unexpected maybe, as in, this is something they rarely ever encounter. And obviously there aren't an enormous number of people cycling across the county, and Rachel and I still haven't run into any other women doing it but, what am I trying to say. Maybe that I am a little bummed it's so unexpected.

Anyways, the owner of the shop offered to let me use his truck to pick up groceries etc while they looked my bike over and wheooo pickups are fun to drive. Closest you get to feeling like Godzilla. I went to the Hyvee and it took me an hour to go shopping because the store is like half a mile long. It takes fifteen minutes just to walk down an aisle.

By the time I returned, Rachel had arrived and it began to rain. And then we opened the back door 10 minutes later and there were sheets of water pounding down at a good 45 degree angle. We weren't going anywhere.

Steve, the shop owners, offered us dinner and a bed at his place and we gladly took him up on the offer. We hung around the shop for the rest of the day then headed back with him.

His grandson Noah greeted us, a 6.5 year old ball of adorable precociousness. Kid has the most remarkable memory for detail. Watch out for him.

After a delicious chicken and veggie dinner, some laundry and some conversation, we headed to bed a little too late and ready for some decent weather tomorrow.

Every Iowan checks to make sure other Iowans have been nice to you like, "Hey where are you going?" <explain etc> "Well that's just great! You've liked Iowa right? The people you've met have been great, right?" Verbatim x 12. Like there is peer pressure to be a Good Samaritan because there is going to be massive collective Iowan shame if you aren't. But hey, everyone's truly been unfailingly kind so I never know what to say other than "Yes everyone here seems like they'd pull out their own kidney if I needed it, please, no need to fret about your brethren."The niceness is kind of freaky but let us all strive to more like Iowans and hold our fellow citizens accountable for immense generosity of heart and home.

Despite it being the most bike-enthusiastic state we've been in: no roads have paved shoulders; county roads are fabulous; city road suck.

There might not be sports but there is RAGBRAI.

Anyways, this morning, we ate a fabulous, nerdy pancake breakfast with our couchsurfing host Sarah, big thick pancakes browned on the griddle. Her Log Cabin syrup brought me back to my bottling days in the UCLA cafeteria. Actually I really never need to go back there again.

Post apocalypse industry in Cedar Rapids

Going into detail about our route today since Google kept trying to put us on gravel so read on if you're interested, or feel free to skip ahead if you're not.

We didn't leave 'til late and it's hot every day now. We were able to take the Cedar River Trail out about 10 miles to Ely before ending up on some classic no-shoulder Iowa highways (Ely Road/W6E/hwy #?). Pro-tip: stay on that road and follow it to Solon. We stopped at the Big Grove Brewery for a sip and some lunch for Rachel and spent like an hour and a half there. We took 1 down to the turnoff to Morse, and then took Morse road into town. We couldn't find a way to get to West Branch without gravel but maybe you can. At least it's hard packed and short (2 miles, maybe 3). The Herbert Hoover trail is this great, overgrown crushed limestone trail that is surprisingly easy to ride. Take F40/290th to 38, then bear left and follow 38 over 80 until you get to Hwy 6 or 155th street. Google's good from there, except definitely ride down to New Era road, which is paved and pleasant, if a little hilly.

Herbert Hoover's trail; he might get someone to mow it

We didn't get into Wildcat State Park until it was almost dark. We've just started to get into firefly territory, and they'd float up out of the grass and out of the cornfields in the hazy dusk, lighting our way to the park. The camping area was one of the strange-ish open ones where all tent sites are right next to each other on the same meadow of lawn grass. They had fresh water, though, and good picnic tables, and fees were only $9 which seems like kind of a steal when you're from California. I tried to go tootlin' off to find Pine Creek but realized I'd have to go down a big hill to get there (aka I would have to climb it on the way back) and the skeeters were out in force so I turned back. I made a really mediocre tofu stir fry for dinner and prepped the tent for the predicted thunderstorms by hooking the tarp grommets onto the tent poles and tying the rest of it up via a couple pieces of cord.

We didn't go to bed 'til late but the thunderstorm came even later and it was a heavy metal kind of rain, endlessly pounding the tent and trees around us. My Big Agnes Air Core has been leaky for a while, but it totally gave out last night, so I slept-woke on the ground (soft, muddy, grassy ground, not bad) and ate a granola bar at 3 am to reflate my deflated spirits/reality.

I'd hoped to leave early to beat the heat a little and run some errands in Davenport but it poured like hell from 7 til 9 am, so much so it didn't make sense to leave. Eventually, though, the rain let up enough for it to get hot and sticky inside the tent and I couldn't take the claustrophobia anymore. I talked to Vince for a while, who's doing his own east-to-west trek (Chefs Fore Vets). He's averaging 35 miles a day and has 'til December and is trying to get on Jimmy Kimmel Live on December 7, so go forth, and tweet about and for(e) him.

Woke up feeling fresh this morning, stomach seems to be all healed up. John made us Scottish oatmeal with raisins and vanilla almond milk with a touch of honey. Plus the best coffee we've had this trip. Well. I've had. Rachel's cutting her addiction loose and reverting to tea.

Goodbye goodbye!

Goodbye's are always bittersweet and this one especially so. Naomi and John took such good care of us, so that while this could have been an extraordinarily low couple of days, it wasn't. Instead it was a treat to spend an extra day in a house full of art, adventure, clean sheets and generous meals. But pedal on we must so off we went.

We rode bike trails along the Iowa river almost the whole way to Cedar Rapids. The first segment, to Waterloo, was all paved, green light filtering through the veil of cedars (I assume, I don't know trees) that bowed over the path. Every so often we caught a glimpse of the river, of an old man with a cap and his fishing rod, of a couple of happy kids out on boats.

Construction blocked the bit of trail from Waterloo to Evanston, where we caught back up with it and rode an easy 20-something miles on a blacktop path through the riparian forest. The pavement gave way to gravel, then to dirt, sometimes totally grown over with grass, until 10 or 15 miles out from Cedar Rapids. Sometimes the mud got real sticky, catching the tires and making each pedal a slog. But for the most part, it was incredible to be off the road. One of the pieces of this trip I didn't really think through was that the best roads are often the most traveled.. or at least well traveled. So on a bike, we can only really access places you can access by car - until now. It looks like we're going to have trails almost clear to La Porte, Indiana, our next teaching spot.

Again, we are so spoiled by the kind folks who take us in. Naomi and John whipped up some bacon and French toast (with real maple syrup) before we headed out to our sixth lesson at the Waterloo YWCA.

The bike paths here are something else. Paved, but through forests and along rivers, we road 10 miles to the summer camp without cars for 9 of 'em. The kids at camp were restless but deeply curious. It was so fun to see them wake up and focus a little, as we started to talk about ourselves, our trip and our careers. It was raining (of course, we can't seem to catch a break with these lessons), but the motors spun, and the back wheels spin weakly in the dimmed light outside.

Favorite questions: does it hurt to eat GU packets; has anyone in your family been to space. Also it was really something to realize how small the world was to most of the kids. We asked them how far California was, and they responded with estimate between 5 and 30 miles. That's what really far away is for them.

After the class, we went back to Naomi and John's to try to get the ID thing sorted out. Took a break in the evening to check out the bike shop and Single Speed brewery (10/10, their IPA and their dark were both top notch). We went to their favorite Thai restaurant for dinner, then toured the university, where John teaches computer science.

We packed up and were pretty much ready to go for the next morning. I was working on the blog in bed at 10 and had been feeling a little queasy. All of a sudden, it was like ten thousand little bugs trying to rip their way out of my stomach. Rachel had just told our hosts the story about what happened in the Alps: Rachel and I were backpacking around Mont Blanc and the one night we decided to camp, I woke up and threw up all over and in this pretty little French lodge. The next day we tried to go on but we ended up having to hitchhike to the nearest English-speaking doctor, two hours away. I was dehydrated and had a kidney infection, and it took another two days before I could hold down some noodles. That ended the trip quick.

Anyways, Rachel had just told this story and I come out white as a sheet and then run to the bathroom. It was an ugly night, compounded by how scared I was I'd have an Alpian repeat. But I finally drifted off, and slept until 9 this morning, awoken by an appetite. We took it easy on food today, but so far I've kept everything down. Rachel kept on the hunt to replace her ID. We'll try for Cedar Rapids tomorrow.

Inches out of the sleeping bag at 9:12 and met Sherrie for coffee and the Coffee Attic. We are two breakfast sandwiches and gave an interview to the town paper too.

Then she took us on a tour of Iowa Falls: to the bike shop (home of the Super Tuned tuneup), Ricky T sr's garage (the Ricky's are not related) to see Sherrie and his decked out bicycles, stereo systems and all, the hospital to actually visit Ricky T, where Rachel got some advice about her knees, then finally back to Mark's house to pack up. Sherrie offered to drive most of our stuff to Rachel's family at Cedar Falls, so we only had to carry a few bags. We didn't leave until 1:30 but weren't worried cause 47 miles seemed breezy after yesterday. Or not breezy. We're just finally confident we can make it any distance 60 and under with no real difficulty, assured of our strength. It's a deep kind of comfort that we only just learned.

We had a headwind the whole way, but no detours. We even stopped for a road whiskey at Grumpy's in Ackley. We made it to Cedar Falls by 6:30 or 7, welcomed by Naomi and John, Rachel's dad's cousin and her husband. They cooked us an incredible meal of Iowa State Fair food (no deep fried butter, don't worry).

Then, while unpacking, Rachel realized she couldn't find either of her rain jackets, which had been tied to the back of the tent. Worse, her wallet was in one of the pockets. So we called in our Iowa Falls reinforcements, but, no luck. The jackets are gone, along with her wallet, so we're trying to figure out how to get her an ID. Turns out California is the only state that doesn't allow you to apply via mail, you have to go in in person. But she can't. Cause she's in Iowa. There's traveler IDs, but those require an itinerary, which we don't have, cause we're science vagabonds. And expedited passports take forever and also take you for all your worth. Any ideas?

I used to find it impossible to get up early in the morning, the world soupy, thick and heavy, but that's shifted substantially in the last two years. Anjali started me a little at school, and in Davis, I'd get up before work to run because the summer days there are brutally hot. Now, on this trip, I love waking up at 6:30, getting out before 8. No flies, the air is cool and sweet, the sun's up but not fiery and there's nothing like putting 50 miles behind you before noon.

So I left Jim's place early, before Rachel woke up. And this splendid day rose before us and the tailwinds propelled us and there were those 50 miles by noon. I also don't do well with heat so I stopped for lunch in a cemetery (only place in Fort Dodge with shade on the way out). Rachel and I decided we could do 100 mile, our first century, so we plugged Iowa Falls into the GPS. Best decision ever.

It's this sweet little town that feels bigger than its 5200 residents. We figured we could camp in Assembly Park, which was right on the Iowa River without getting kicked out so long as we hid ourselves kind of well. Cooked up some lettuce wraps filled with kielbasa, quinoa, mushrooms and onions and basked in the glory of the evening and how easy the day felt despite the distance.

The evening was so warm, I decided to clean up in the river. I ran up the swinging bridge and down the road to the river, interrupting the migration of twelve mama gooses and their goslings. I wasn't sure if the river was safe.. It seemed a special kind of crazy that on such a gorgeous evening, there was no one else swimming in the river. So I flagged down a guy driving a boat and asked if the water was safe. He assured me it was.

I jumped in with all my clothes on ... double duty, washing machines are few and far between. While I scrubbed off the thick cake of sweat, dirt, sunscreen and bug spray, the guy on the boat, Mark, docked his boat right there next to the shore. When he found out Rachel and I were cyclists, he called up his friend Sherrie. It was Tuesday and Tuesday's are bike nights in Iowa falls. She's loud and blonde, Mark said, you're gonna love her.

Rachel's in there somewhere

Sherrie was awesome and kind of adopted us for the night. She took us to Alden, where the cyclists were grabbing some brews before heading back. And the first song Burchfield plays when we arrive is Wait So Long by Trampled by Turtles! I went crazy like always; that was a good introduction.

Anyways, we stayed there for a while, then Sherrie drove us back to town to meet Mark, Chow neè Kevin and Ricky T jr at Woody's, where Rachel was proposed to and then had the world's second worst beer (the first can be found on tap in Sundance). Old Legion: don't do it.

We ran outside at midnight to look for the ISS but it was too bright, or we got the time wrong. As the night wound down, Ricky T convinced Mark to take us out on his boat on the river. And out there you could see the stars. We've had the universe stolen from us by weather for the last two months so to finally see them speckled up there was, well, kind of magical. Mark got a call from a guy in England about an engine failure in a commercial airplane we could see flashing in the sky from the deck of the boat. Turns out he's a machine genius.

We didn't end up camping in the park today, we slept on the couch in Mark's basement which is the most classic man cave I've ever had the opportunity to invade. The plane was fine, made it safe all the way across the nation. Now we just have to do that.

Californians, we've been lied to our whole lives. The Midwest is about as flat as a buffalo's back. Todd promised us Iowa has more elevation gain than Colorado. I have not fact checked but after today I believe it.

We took our bikes in to Albrecht's bike shop in downtown Sioux City before heading out because my bike's been feeling kinda funny from time to time, like I'm grinding something deep in some bearings. Turned out I had massacred the chain these last 1700 miles or so, so Kelly the Bike Mechanic threw a new one on there.

Iowa is, however, as bucolic as you'd expect and there's baby corn everywhere, little six inch stalks that'll be ten times the size once RAGBRAI rolls around. It was hot and I was pretty scared of repeating the overheating I'd cooked myself into on the way to White River so I took it really slow. It's hard to even sit in the shade here though cause the flies are so bad. And have I mentioned the mosquitoes bite through spandex? Insatiable, horrible beasts.

Well Rachel and I took slightly different routes and both ended up having to take pretty major detours to avoid dirt roads. I went up by Storm Lake.

Our warm showers host, a corn farmer, fed us another fantastic meal. We're so spoiled on this trip; people are way too good to us.

Well we didn't end up in Oz but it stormed all night long, rain and winds pounding our sturdy (new and improved!) tent.

Today, South Dakota finally lived up to my preconceptions: it was flat. Flatland. Flat as a frying pan.

We had decent weather - had a tailwind! - most of the way. I got real hungry near Vermillion and stopped at the Hyvee, the Safeway equivalent, for a sandwich and a mango. Funny how set in your ways you get. Like the shelves were organized differently here than in a Safeway, the fruit was stacked differently, even the way the pharmacy was set up. Anyways I sat in the cafe and destroyed the mango, juice dripping everywhere. Definitely earned some stares with this one. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

We ran into another tourer, Brad, there too (seriously we find'em in the strangest places). He had just caught up with the Lewis and Clark trail in Sioux City. I didn't talk to him long because I was very focused on that coffee and those calories.

It started to drizzle, then pour, as we left Vermillion until we were maybe 20 miles from the destination. My case isn't really waterproof anymore so I just stick the phone in my jacket's back pocket. The temperature stayed around 70 though and the water was warm so the riding was still pretty easy. I chewed a whole pack of gum in 10 minutes like I always do.

When I crossed the bridge into Iowa, Rachel was heading back across it. She couldn't find the state sign.. And we never did find any notice. So we maneuvered to the interstate and took a solid selfie there. From there, we had planned on riding five miles through Nebraska (man, no other state has taken the kind of shit this state gets. Singularly, every person we talked to told us not to go) but some friends of our warm showers host for the night spotted us and invited us out for beer. We happily obliged. Buffalo Alice ("BA's") is highly recommended. Plus Adam, the bartender and also a biker, fed us from his unlimited supply of tootsie rolls. Rachel ordered a pizza (girl finally got her cheese) and we rode south to Tom's house. He grilled up some awesome pork burgers and we talked with his wife Mandy and listened to his adorable son Jackson bang stuff together in his room.

Completely worn out from the night before, sleep came almost instantly.